


Maw

by BubblegumCat



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Zombie AU, Zombie Apocalypse, and jeanmarco is always my go to, i just wanted to try writing a zombie thing, idk whats going to happen, probably alot of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 18:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblegumCat/pseuds/BubblegumCat
Summary: Jean had lost everything. Watched everyone he ever knew, ever cared about, be slaughtered by the living, devoured by the dead, killed by disease and injury. He walks, collecting what he can, killing when he has to. Surviving. Unfeeling. His life is grey. What can you do, when you've been fighting to survive for so long, and you realise, you haven't the slightest idea what it's all for?





	Maw

**Author's Note:**

> i don't, really know if i'll ever continue this? i don't know where it's going, but i kinda like writing it, so hopefully i'll come up with some more. let me know if you like it, okay? <3

maw  
mɔː/  
noun  
the jaws or throat of a voracious animal, usually carnivorous.

the mouth or gullet of a greedy person.

a cavernous opening that resembles the open jaws of an animal:  
the gaping maw of hell.

the symbolic or theoretical centre of a voracious hunger or appetite of any kind:  
the ravenous maw of Death.

 

Night was approaching. The clouds were rolling in, and there was a chill in the air. Jean had to be quick. 

He picked his way through the wreckage of what once had been someone's house. The last place to check in the town. The trek there had been a long one, recommended by a couple he met that seemed trustworthy enough, and he was determined not to leave empty handed. Not this time. 

Most towns were barren, had already been heavily pillaged by the desperate, but there was always the chance they had left behind or missed something that would be useful to Jean. Besides, it wasn't like he had anything better to do. Time was the one thing he had too much of. 

He sifted through broken wood and brick for anything of value, any tins of food, potential weapons, items he could use or trade. He didn't come across many people, wasn't one of the ones who had joined together to travel in packs, but when he did see people, and they didn't try to kill him, they usually were in need of something. That was life now. 

Jean had lost so much, he could barely remember what it was to have anything. 

He'd just pulled out a long pipe and was weighing up how effective it could be as a weapon, when his eyes caught on a dull shine - a heavily dented tin just poking out from behind a splintered piece of wood. He picked his way over wreckage to reach it, heaved up the plank, and found five tins. Two were broken, but three seemed okay. 

He glanced around, checking for any danger. Nothing. It was quiet. Silent, if anything. Which usually was a sure sign of danger. He had to be very quick. But he was used to that. 

He took his pack off quickly, unzipping it deftly and shoving the tins inside. Yanking the zip closed before pulling it onto his back, he looked around again. 

There. In the trees on the outskirts of the town. Three of them. 

Jean still was undecided about what to call them, but others had many names for them. 

Bodies. Cold ones. Runners. 

Zombies. 

They hadn't noticed him yet. They were coming out of the trees now, and loitered near the ruins of a house around five or so blocks from where Jean was. They were taking the shuffling steps they took when no obvious food source was close. He wasn't too worried about them - they were relatively easy to avoid. When they didn't know you were there. 

Jean made his way back down onto solid ground, picking his steps carefully. The last thing he needed was an injury. Getting injured when you were alone? Sure fire way to die, he could kiss his sorry skinny ass goodbye. If you couldn't run, you were just meat. 

Well, in Jean's opinion, that's all anyone was anyway. When it really came down to it. 

But he was in no mood for philosophising. Darkness was creeping nearer. He had to get out of here, find shelter. It was always a risk, traveling long distances in search of supplies, but he was running so low on food he'd decided it was a risk he had to take. Even if it meant not knowing if he would even be able to find a safe spot. 

In the end, it was stay where he was and starve, or head out into the unknown and face whatever he met. He tended to prefer the latter, the risk of it. Honestly, it was just something to do. 

The bodies hadn't noticed him yet. Jean watched them closely, waited behind the ruins of the house until they were further inside of the town and out of his sight. Made himself count to ten in his head, slowly. The longer he waited, the less likely it was that he would be seen. He breathed in heavily. His legs ached with tension. He couldn't wait any longer. 

Then he ran. 

He sprinted for the trees, hoping and hoping that they wouldn't spot him, that they would be too focused on the town. It was the only chance he had. If they got too close, they'd smell him, and he's be done for. He was almost there. And then he heard them coming. 

A low growl. Jean chanced a look back as he reached the trees, still pumping his legs furiously as he ran on, and saw one of them coming for him. The thing screeched, and then others were on it's tail, two of them, then three more, and more and more until there was at least fifteen or so. 

Jean swore in his head. Couldn't afford to waste the breath to say anything aloud. This was the way he had come to think, had conditioned himself to only exert energy in a way that would potentially save his life. 

He didn't look back again, it wasn't worth it. Just kept running, ducking in and out of trees, jumping over large rocks and fallen trunks. Kept running until he felt like his lungs would collapse in on themselves. Through the pounding of his heart and the wheeze of his breaths in and out, it seemed quiet. 

An enormous rock loomed up ahead, the base of it hidden beneath a tall heap of bracken and branches. Jean made a decision, jumped into the brush, rubbed mud from the ground on his exposed hands and face just to cover his scent a little. He'd heard a few people say that this helped, and he was willing to try anything at this point. 

Outside of his hiding spot there were no signs of movement. It was quiet. Quiet, but not quite silent. The few birds that were left tweeted softly high up in the trees. That was a good sign. Animals always knew when the runners were around. For some reason the virus thing hadn't affected them, and the dead hadn't managed to slaughter all of the wildlife just yet. 

Jean sat down roughly in the bracken he'd hidden himself in, breath still uneven, heart still feeling like it wanted to jump straight up and out of his mouth. 

He cursed himself for not waiting a little longer. That had been far too close a call. He knew he'd been incredibly lucky to outrun them, had heard from countless others that outrunning the runners was a feat. 

"Guess I'm lucky I'm good at running." He muttered to himself, running his hands through his hair. 

Jean let himself breathe for a bit. Listened to the birds, looked up at the trees that towered above him. Allowed himself what small comfort these things brought whilst still listening intently for other sounds, on edge despite the calm he'd found himself in. He didn't leave the brush. He wasn't quite ready for that. 

A few minutes, he told himself. The light was fading, the sky around the leaves above him turning lilac, but he could wait a few minutes. 

\---

The walk home was long, so Jean sought shelter for the night. The runners tended to stay near civilisation, or the remnants of it, but there were always a few hanging around on the outskirts. On rare occasions Jean had even seen small groups of them deep inside the woods. That didn't bear thinking about. 

Jean walked. 

He'd found a stream, and was following it, hoping that it might lead to a town, or at least an abandoned cabin. He'd learned there were often settlements near water sources. He would never have known that three years ago, before all this. But, for what it was worth, he knew now. And he guessed it had kept him alive as of yet, so it was worth quite a lot. 

After two hours, with 30 of those minutes being spent outside in what was too close to near darkness for Jean's liking, he came across a tiny cabin. It must've only had enough space for one room, maybe two if they were both very small rooms. 

The windows were unlit, so he was hoping it would be empty. He wasn't in any mood to make either friends or small talk, or, worst case scenario, to fight. Either way, he didn't have much of a choice, and so he approached.

He was cautious. Most people were extremely hostile, and understandably so. Trust was a rare thing to come by, so he was wary as he got closer to the entrance. Once he reached the door he tried the handle. It didn't budge. 

Jean listened. Everything was quiet, not a peep from inside the cabin. He decided to chance a look inside the window, quickly putting his face to a hole in the boarded up glass for a few seconds before ducking away. What little he was able to see was promising. 

Dust, layered thick, and weeds growing through floorboards. Surfaces cleared of belongings. From what he could tell, the place had been locked up and abandoned. 

He took a deep breath, standing in front of the door, before he kicked it in swiftly. He'd done this before a few times, so he was able to do it in two practiced kicks, without breaking the actual door, just the lock that kept him out. Once it was done he darted back behind the wall. Just in case. There was nothing from inside the cabin, and he peeked around to see the dust settle. Nothing stirred. No movement whatsoever. 

Jean quickly stepped inside and closed the door. His mind was already considering how to secure it again when he saw that there were three or four different bolts already attached, but that had not been holding the door closed when he kicked it in. Only two had been used to lock the door, and the other two were intact. The people who left must have been in a rush to lock up, only sliding two into place before they left through a window and boarded the place up. 

Jean bolted the door, effectively locking out the now near complete darkness that lay outside. Once the door was secured he turned, dropped his pack to the floor and leaned against the solid wood, taking a deep breath. The anxiety now ever present in his chest subsided a little as he breathed, his back pressed to the locked door.

Being outside at night was possibly the worst thing to happen to someone, and so he knew he had gotten lucky when he found this place. Very lucky. Twice in one day. "Fuck me," he whispered to himself. 

The cabin smelled musty, earthy and slightly damp. The smell filled his nose, but he didn't mind. After a few more minutes he stood and assessed his new lodgings. 

Just as he'd thought, the cabin was essentially one room. A sink and a few kitchen units, including a gas fire stove, were in one corner, along with a tiny table and two chairs. Against the opposite wall was a fireplace, a threadbare rug pulled in front of it along with a two seater moth-eaten sofa and a tall backed chair. In another corner there was a single bed and a small bedside cabinet. Opposite to that were two bookshelves, a large chest and a set of draws. The windows on each wall were boarded up, and there was only one entrance. 

Good, Jean thought to himself. He always liked to know where his exits were, as well as where anyone, or anything, else could potentially get in. And the less of those there were, the better. 

As he looked around he realised he was starving, and so he hauled his pack over to the kitchen table and rummaged around inside, pulling out candles, matches, tins of food and a fork that was very bent out of shape. He collapsed into one of the chairs, before he grabbed his knife off his belt and used it to stab open a tin of beans. 

There had been many a time when Jean had eaten beans cold, straight out of the can, but he was determined that tonight would not be one of those times. 

Luckily there was some half burned wood already in the hearth, and a decent pile of logs lay in a basket next to the fire. Jean set himself up with all his stuff on the rug along with a pan he'd found in the kitchen, stabbed open the tin of beans, tipped them into the pan and lit the fire with his matches. He worked silently, legs crossed, doing his best to keep his mind blank. He'd found that the best way to get on was to think as little as possible. Thinking led to worrying, and worry, well, that never led to anything good. 

As his beans warmed, he considered the fact that he'd found shelter, he was warming himself and his food by a fire, and he had an actual bed to sleep in that night. Things were okay, and he allowed himself to dwell on that, to make the most of it. He'd think about tomorrow when it came. 

The beans were warm and comforting, and that night he slept well for the first time in months and months.


End file.
